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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700544">All Hail Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfologist/pseuds/werewolfologist'>werewolfologist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Losers of our Lives [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alvin Marsh is His Own Warning, Carrie White makes a cameo :’), Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, F/F, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slice of Life, bi/lesbian bev, it's the late 90s, losers (the college years), mention of past child abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:47:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfologist/pseuds/werewolfologist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1998, Beverly Marsh enters her first year of college and experiences the wild emotions of baby-adulthood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Losers of our Lives [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All Hail Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title jacked from "All Hail Me" by Veruca Salt.</p><p>All-nighter in the FIT Fibers Department playlist moment (only partially period-accurate): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/30mpupp7LsoCsgJcGaQ0mw?si=3pC1VRpmThKfXugFCYc1aw</p><p>follow my clown twitter @bevghoul</p><p>special thanks to Alex for beta reading this :-)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Late Aug, Early Sept]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>   At 18, Bev Marsh was constantly looking for catharsis. She hadn’t been to a therapist since junior year of high school, and she’s coped by traversing around New York City, being— as her aunt, Kit, would say— self-serving. </p><p> </p><p>Auntie Kit was a fuck of a lot better than her dad, but being better than him wasn’t that hard. All you had to do was the absolute bare minimum of not being a fucking shitstain creep and you’d be home-free. Now, that being said, Kit had her problems, too. Though, she was supportive of Bev’s “free spirit” she had a habit of projecting a little <em> too </em> hard onto her niece. It was usually things like image consciousness, “What would your grandmother say if she saw you doing this?”, or, “Think of how your little cousins would be affected if you went out and did XYZ and it got around?” Shit like that. It was just a product of generational trauma, and the fact that Kit was a black woman living in the predominantly white area of Seattle, she felt sympathy that her aunt was bogged down by this stuff, but it annoyed her to no end.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care if they see!” She would think but not say. But, now, it was a mantra, a little manifesto: <em>I don’t give a shit what they think.</em> <em>We’re all gonna fucking die one day.</em></p><p> </p><p>Her friend, Eddie, regarded her as an ‘emotional tornado that constantly operated in the eye of the storm.’ </p><p>“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?” They were stoned on the dorm couch, legs intertwined as Bev passed the joint to him.</p><p>He took it, “I dunno. But it suits you.” she agreed.</p><p>Eddie and Beverly fit well together, emotionally, that is. Though they were both little balls of anger, trauma, and fight. They were crazy about the opposite things, always level headed when the other was having some sort of freak out. Eddie kept Bev from going too far off the deep end and Bev kept Eddie from getting in his head too much. He had a paralyzing fear of authority and rules, she was teaching him to relax.</p><p>They first met at some grimy, packed basement show before the fall semester kicked off. Bev was sweating too much for her liking in the humid boiler room so she came upstairs to bum some water. She found Eddie having an anxiety attack in the hall because the guy he came with ditched him— he didn’t want to be there in the first place and much less <em> alone </em>.</p><p>Bev sat across from him on the opposite wall and asked him if he was okay. When Eddie said as such, all Bev had in response was, “Look, man, fuck that guy. He probably had a micro dick anyway.” And he laughed despite himself. </p><p>They found out they both went to the same college and have been inseparable ever since. </p><p>When Bev was working late in the dense maze of fabric and dress-forms that is the fashion department of FIT, Eddie would usually keep her company or bring her food and coffee. Or, if he wasn’t there he’d insist on her paging him at whatever ungodly hour she was done working so he could walk her back to the dorms. The thought process was to ward off dudes from trying to fuck with her. He said this, despite being the most Iggy Pop looking motherfucker to exist since Joey Ramone.</p><p>“What’s <em> that </em> supposed to mean?” Eddie shot back after Bev gave a loud and pointed “ <em> HA! </em>” when he first brought up the notion.</p><p>“It means you’re skinny and un-intimidating.” </p><p>“Fuck you, Bev.”</p><p>She stuck her tongue out at him.</p><p> </p><p>If ever anyone tries to touch Bev wrong, she usually ends up pulling a knife or twisting their arm, contemplating whether to break it or not. </p><p>Once, in 10th grade, she got suspended for punching Sam Kazinski in the stomach and kicking him while he was down after he and two of his friends tried to corner her in the hall while walking to 5th period. <em> They </em> didn’t get suspended but <em> none </em> of them tried to fuck with her after that.</p><p>Her logical side tells her that even though she’s capable of defending herself doesn’t mean that she is <em> in </em>capable of, one day, losing a fight. It’s better to travel in 2s, 3s or more. But, sometimes her pride gets the best of her and she travels alone.</p><p> ‘<em> Is it pride? </em> ’ she thinks, ‘ <em> Sometimes bad things happen and sometimes they don’t; that’s life, right </em> ?’ that thought triggered <em> more </em>thoughts— the unpleasant shit she worked so hard to either suppress or work through. Two very conflicting things, aren’t they? </p><p>The emotions of the memories hover over her like an aura, grim, and tenebrous. As she got off the street, into the dorm complex, onto the elevator, there they followed. She pressed her head to the cold metal of the lift, closed her eyes, and breathed slowly. <em> In. Out. In. Out– from your stomach, not your chest. </em> Her ex-therapist, Sarah, taught her that.</p><p>“People tend to breathe incorrectly,” She said during one of their earliest sessions, “they fill their chests with air because the top of lungs is there, but they don’t follow through. You’re supposed to feel the air at the bottom of your lungs, it lifts your stomach like when you’re sleeping.” </p><p>The elevator door dinged open and Beverly trudged to her dorm. Her roommates would’ve been asleep, she crept through the door, got to her room and flopped on the bed. She didn’t even bother to take off her jacket, shoes, jeans, nothing. She needed a second to look at her ceiling, force herself to think about absolutely nothing, and just breathe. Eyes closed, then opened.</p><p>
  <em> Just a second. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> More… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She got up, taking off all her clothes, besides her underwear, strewing them on the floor for her to deal with in the morning. Putting on her <em> esteemed </em> XXXL Pantera shirt (which she stole from <em> somebody, </em>she can’t remember who) and turned out the lights. Pouring herself under her blankets, she does her best to snuff out the noise in her brain.</p><p>_____________</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Late Sept] </b>
</p><p> </p><p>“Henry, give the phone to your mom,” </p><p>“A simple <em> please </em> would be nice, Beaver, or even a ‘ <em> hi, how are ya?’ </em>” </p><p>“Don’t antagonize me, short stack.” </p><p>Henry backed away from the receiver and called, “<em> Mom, Beverly’s on the phone! </em>”</p><p>Bev sighed on the other end as she faintly heard her aunt shout back to her son that she’ll be there in a second. </p><p>“So, Beaver, wh—“</p><p>“<em> Hen </em>, what did I say?” </p><p>“Whatever, dude, I hear—“ Henry was cut off by his mother grabbing the phone from him.</p><p>“Beverly Elvira?”</p><p>“Hey, Auntie.” She put on her best saccharine-tone.</p><p>“Now, girlie, I know that voice— you ain’t ever that sweet, not even to me.” </p><p>“A—“</p><p>“What do you need?”</p><p>“Can’t I call my belovéd aunt to see how she’s doing <em> without </em>needing something?”</p><p>“Of course you <em> can </em> , it’s that you <em> don’t </em>.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“Out with it, girl.”</p><p>“Jeez, am I really that bad?”</p><p>Kit sighed, “It doesn’t matter one way or the other as long as you don’t get arrested and come home for the holidays. Now, what do you need? Money?”</p><p>Bev got quiet, she absolutely did need money. She didn’t even know how she was going to ask for it while dialing her up, much less now, after she read her thoughts so thoroughly. </p><p>“N-no, it’s not money.” <em> Fuck </em>, now what? She blew all her cash on fabric (a justifiable investment, for school and all) and drugs (less justifiable). She applied for a few jobs in the area but businesses rarely hired full-time students. “I mean, it is but...it’s not dire.” She grasped at straws, “But, uh, about the holidays?”</p><p>Kit hummed, not amused.</p><p>“Is it cool if I bring a friend over to stay with us?” </p><p>“Oh, a <em> friend? </em>” She teased.</p><p>“<em> Yes </em>, Kit, he’s just a friend.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t see the harm in that. Are you <em> sure </em> that’s all you need?”</p><p>“Yeah, totally.”</p><p> <em> Go ahead, Bev. Dig another hole for yourself since you seem to like them so much. </em></p><p> </p><p>_____________</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Early Oct]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Whenever Bev went to parties, she would pick out someone to befriend for the night. It wasn’t her plan to do that tonight because she finally convinced Eddie to come out with her and ‘live a little’.</p><p>“Parties aren’t my scene!”</p><p>“But you can get drunk for free!”</p><p>“It’s not free if I pay for it with my sanity.”</p><p>But, not forty-five minutes later, Ed Boy was buzzed and making out with some dude that looked like a scruffy Buddy Holly. Bev couldn’t help but to be a little bitter about it–– not ‘cause she wanted to make out with the dude; ‘cause she was abandoned. </p><p><em> Or maybe </em> , she thought, <em> I wish I was making out with someone </em>. </p><p>She scoped out the crowd while chugging the rest of her drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a girl, incredibly tall, with dark hair and darker clothes. Seemingly, just as alone as Bev was. </p><p><em> Bingo </em>. </p><p>She waited for the buzz to kick in before striding over to her, “Hi,” she smiled.</p><p>On closer look, the girl had wickedly intricate makeup that made her look like a bog witch in the most complimentary way possible, Bev, of course, told her this. </p><p>She laughed a musically lithe laugh, “Thanks, I like to look ravaged by war.”</p><p>“Hot.” <em> C’mon, that’s all you can manage?  </em></p><p>“You too.” The girl cocked her eyebrow,  <em> hot hot hot! </em></p><p>Bev’s brain was fried because this girl was too sexy, “Uh, do you wanna smoke with me?”</p><p>Bad move?</p><p>Her eyes widened, she contemplated then shrugged, “If it’s a cig, then, sure.”</p><p> Best move.</p><p> </p><p>“Your name is <em> Corinthians </em>?” Bev exclaimed, halfway through her cig. They leaned against a brick wall just adjacent to the party. It was getting pretty deep into fall, but, tonight the air was temperate and only brought along a weak breeze. Trees swayed mildly and hard orange leaves were kicked up off the asphalt every few seconds. </p><p>Corinthians nodded, “Yeah, but most people call me Corin...or Cory.”</p><p>“That’s fucking rad.” </p><p>“Have you ever read ‘<em> Song of Solomon’ </em>?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh, well, it’s from that.”</p><p>Bev nodded, “I thought it was from the Bible.”</p><p>Cory giggled, “You’re so stupid.”</p><p>“Be nice! I’m drunk and you’re pretty. The one-third of my brain that’s actually working right now is in overdrive.”</p><p>She laughed again, throwing her head back, and then, she took another contemplative drag, and turned towards Bev, “You wanna make out?”</p><p>Bev did her best to sound enthusiastic but not in an uncool way, “Obviously,” she botched her words, “but I wouldn’t want to mess up your makeup.”</p><p>“It was coming off at the end of the night anyway, might as well have fun while I’m doing it”</p><p>Corinthians moved closer to Beverly, and Beverly to Corinthians. </p><p>Cory flicked what was left of her cigarette on the ground and crushed it with her boot. When she looked back up, Bev instinctively grabbed Cory’s face and pulled her into a hard kiss. </p><p>_________________</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>[Late Oct]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>A memory always lay in her head— square in the middle but dormant, lying in wait. The danger of remembering it was always there. If ever she lets her guard down,  it weeds its way out of the bitter depths of her psyche and when it reaches its prey, each of its spindly fingers carefully wraps itself around her neck and squeezes tight.</p><p>Beverly stabbed her father. </p><p>He had her pinned up against the wall outside her room. She had gotten home late from school and he didn’t like that. First, she kicked him, his grasp loosened and she was able to wrench herself away. But, instead of running out the door, she grabbed a kitchen knife off the counter. It was an unconscious act, she had it in her hands before she knew why she was even moving. It was an instinct and the instinct terrified her. She held it trembling as Alvin recovered and lumbered towards her. He said something, Bev didn’t know what but she remembers his mouth moving, the intonation in his voice leaking from it.</p><p>He was a weedy man but his daughter looked at him like a hulking beast— a pig monstrosity scraping its hooves. </p><p>“Give me the knife, Beverly.” She thinks that’s what he said. </p><p>She shook her head, furiously.</p><p>“C’mon, give me the knife.” He took a step closer and, she, a step back. </p><p>A moment lapsed.</p><p>Alvin charged towards the girl, and as she shrieked and turned to run, he grabbed her by the back, engulfing her in a bear grip.</p><p>And she remembered: She had a knife.</p><p>The handle felt so heavy, so real. Like it could easily slip from her grasp and she’d lose her chance. She gripped the knife as tightly as she could and stabbed him in the side. It was stuck in him at an awkward angle. </p><p>Beverly felt no triumph at that moment. She’d never feel that way about it. But a sort of morbid awe fell over her for a split second.</p><p><em> You’re not supposed to remove the offending object from a bleeding person. It only exacerbates the situation. </em>She had learned that from a first aid book.</p><p>Beverly removed the knife, it was difficult, over an inch and a half deep, but she did it. Alvin hit the wall behind him and slid to the floor. She drove the knife into his shoulder and left it there. </p><p>She flew out the door and into the nearby woods. Posting up on a boulder next to the creak, until she figured she should seek shelter somewhere else. She was picked up by the police later that night while walking on the street.</p><p>She was only 13 at the time. </p><p> </p><p>5 years later, Beverly carried a knife on her at all times now. She felt the weight of it in her jacket pocket as she walked home from class. She shook her head, letting her hood fall. </p><p>She wanted to peel off her skin, emotionally that is. Like a snake, she strived to shed her outer being and leave behind the sorrow that confined her so. </p><p>
  <em> Shake it off, girlie. You have a date tonight, don’t get irritable.  </em>
</p><p>She barely registered her route back to the dormitory. Before she knew it, she was unlocking her door… In her room… throwing off her bag… looking into the mirror.</p><p>She has about 3 hours until she and Corinthians journey out to the big graveyard a few blocks away. They’d have a little picnic, and watch the sunset.</p><p>It was going to be good.</p><p>It was going to be okay.</p><p> </p><p>Corinthians pulled a little clinking jar of things out of her bag. The pair sat on their blanket, having already finished eating. Beverly was <em> desperately </em> trying to come off as calm, cool, and collected, despite being frightened of (but she’d insist they only make her a little skittish)  by graveyards. She agreed to come because Corin seemed so enthusiastic about it. She unscrewed the jar.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“What’s that for?” The slight wobble in Bev’s voice threatened to give her away</p><p>The other girl poured some of the contents into her hands, bits of jewelry, coins, rock… ”Offerings for the spirits. I wanted to collect grave dirt.”</p><p>Bev shuttered, “Why?”</p><p>“Because if you take, you have to give in return. It’s an exchange.”</p><p>Beverly hummed, Corin stretched the jar closer to her, “Hold out your hands.”</p><p>Bev did as told and she tipped what remained in the jar out onto her palm. </p><p>“Come on,” Corinthians stood, smiling, “let’s go collecting.”</p><p> </p><p>It started getting dark as they were walking, they still had a few trinkets left to give but Bev wanted out as soon as possible. Did she voice this opinion? No. Of course not</p><p>She got shakier as the night went on and when Corin asked what was wrong, Beverly opted to blame the late October chill. So, they went on and after all the offerings were gone and the jar that once held them was filled with dirt, Bev wavered, “So, should we leave?”</p><p>“I’ve never been to a cemetery at night, can you believe that?” It was completely dark out but the cemetery had lamp posts that lined either side of the cement path, lighting the graves from only one angle.</p><p>“No, I can’t, actually. You seem to like it here.” Bev didn’t aim for a particular tone with her comment but it sure sounded <em> biting </em>.</p><p>Corin’s face fell, “Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No.” She tried to walk it back but her defensiveness overrode her tact, “I just don't like it here.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”</p><p>“I didn’t want to interrupt.”</p><p>“Interrupt?”</p><p>“You looked like you were having fun.” Bev shrugged.</p><p>“Look, Beverly, we can leave, if you want to, it’s fine. You don’t have to be passive-aggressive.” Corin walked past her towards the path. </p><p>“I’m not being passive-aggressive!”  Bev rushed to keep up. </p><p>“You <em> are </em> ! You could’ve said something earlier. <em> ” </em></p><p>“It doesn’t matter anymore, it happened, it’s done. Who cares?”</p><p>Corin scoffed, they were side by side, “Whatever.”</p><p>“Yeah, <em> whatever </em>.”</p><p>Bev didn’t realize how upset either of them was until, partway through the walk home, they still hadn’t said anything to one another. </p><p> </p><p> _________________</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>[Early Nov]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“What would I have to say to get you to do it?”</p><p>“You wouldn’t have to say anything, you’d just have to promise not to fuck it up, Marsh.”</p><p>Beverly laughed, “I can’t promise you shit, dude.”</p><p>Eddie stared down at the table for a moment and pursed his lips. He shook his head and slid out of the booth, “Alright, let’s go.”</p><p>“Oh, shit, really?” Bev’s eyes widened.</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll do it if you’ll do it, too.” </p><p>“Hon, you <em> know </em> I’m a bad influence, right?” She got her bag and stood up, too.</p><p>“Bev, it’s a fucking mullet.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you started smoking because of me!”</p><p>Eddie shrugged, “If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been somebody else. I need to make mistakes in my life.”</p><p>“Fuck yeah, baby! I’m the king of mistakes; Let’s go fucking crazy!”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Beverly pushed the contents of her dorm sink to the farthest side of the counter and ducked down to drawer level to pull out a pair of clippers. “Ed, can you get the scissors from my room? They should be on my desk.”</p><p>“Beverly, I know you’re not about to cut your hair with fabric scissors.”</p><p>“Course not. I’m cutting <em> yours </em> with them.”</p><p>“No, the fuck you’re not.”</p><p>“I’m using the clippers on <em> my </em> hair because I don’t care if it turns out bad. I need <em> precision </em> when it comes to you or you’ll freak it and tell me to shave your whole head.”</p><p>“You have hair scissors!”</p><p>“Yeah but I don’t know where they are!”</p><p>Eddie grumbled and went to dig around in Bev’s room. </p><p>She admired herself in the mirror, her baby cheeks, green eyes, and shaggy hair. She was always on a sliding scale of liking her appearance. Only ever seeing herself as looking far too much like Pippi Longstocking, <em> or </em> being the hottest bitch in the world. No in between. She was squishing her cheeks when Eddie came back into the bathroom with proper hair scissors. </p><p>“You’re welcome.” He handed them to her. Bev waved the clippers in response and turned them on, taking up sections of her overgrown hair and haphazardly cutting them down. First, dangerously short in the front then, tapered in the back. It was ugly, but she loved it. She wore it well.</p><p>“Your turn.”</p><p>“You’re not doing that to my hair.”</p><p>“I’ll be careful I <em> swear.” </em></p><p>Eddie groaned, “Fine.”</p><p>“Rad! Put your head in the sink.”</p><p>“Why?” He sputtered.</p><p>“Because I have to wash that stupid gel out of your hair. Why do you wear it anyway?”</p><p>Eddie turned on the water and bent down to put his head under it, “Without it, I look like a douche.”</p><p>She combed her fingers through his hair along with him, “You’d look like a douche either way. You might as well let your mad-scientist hair live free.”</p><p>“I’ll pass.” He decided he had enough and turned off the water. Bev handed him a towel and took up the scissors, snipping them, menacingly.</p><p>“Alright, ready for your bad haircut?”</p><p>“My life is in your hands.” Eddie laughed.</p><p>The cut wasn’t bad, Eddie’s hair was naturally fluffy so, even after it was trimmed, it curled up into a charming ducktail, effectively hiding anything truly mullet-ly about it. He looked good, and she told him as much–– except she used the word <em> adorable </em>to make him angry because Beverly is allergic to sincerity.</p><p>But he knew her well enough to see through it. </p><p>__________________</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>[Late Nov]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Bev has always been irate in one way or another. She was able to manage in recent years.</p><p>However, Bev was off her meds. Not by choice, though that’s something she’d done before. She was missing half a bottle and couldn’t get more until the end of the month. Everything, every little noise, every stupid fucking voice grated Beverly’s ears to the point she had to remove herself from almost every situation, so she could keep from screaming at people.</p><p>She felt like shit, too.</p><p>Withdrawal was one hell of a punishment. Nausea hit her the hardest she could barely stand up without feeling like her frontal lobe was going to liquefy and ooze out of her nose. </p><p>She didn’t want to speak and didn’t want anyone to speak to her. But, of course, they did because she <em> didn’t tell anyone </em> she didn’t want to be bothered. </p><p>
  <em> How can they not feel the violent rage drumming off of me? Are they ignoring it? Get the fuck away from me. </em>
</p><p>She had enough sense to stay away from the people she didn’t want to lose– but that’s not having sense is it? She thought it was the most responsible thing to do. Beverly hated being alone but would force herself to be, without warning, so she would be <em> permanently </em> alone later on.</p><p>She’d come back to them when she’s feeling better. Give some half baked excuse to save face even when she didn’t need to…</p><p>
  <em> God, I’m just stupid aren’t I? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Leave a message at the beep.” </em> Beep!</p><p>“Hey, Kittie, it’s Beverly...obviously.” She was kind of relieved that no one picked up- it lessened the amount of human contact she’d have to put herself through.“Uh, do you still have Sarah Morales’ number? I know I wrote it down but I can’t find it anywhere; I want to ask her about therapists in the area and stuff. Also, winter break starts on the 15th next month and ends on the 20th of January— can’t wait to be back in Washington,” she thought to add more but she was paranoid that the tape would run out on her, “Love you, thanks, bye.”</p><p>She hung up the phone a little harder than intended, and held onto it, breathing out. That interaction (or lack thereof) itself was agonizing and the fact that she felt that way made her feel even <em> more </em>agony. </p><p>
  <em> Kit has done nothing but love me and I’m too fucked up to even call her. </em>
</p><p>She took a deep breath, got up from the couch, and left her dorm.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t make it very far, she got to a lone bench in the courtyard of one of the studio buildings and decided to go no further.</p><p>Everything hurt too much. Physically or mentally, she didn’t know but it <em> hurt </em>.</p><p>She held her head in her hands for a while, breathing, focusing—</p><p>“Hey, Pity-Party.” a soft voice chimed. Bev looked up, and the long blonde hair and shy smile of Carrie White greeted her. She was an anthropology student Bev met during her (Carrie’s) shift at the research library. She was a year ahead of her and let her photocopy some things for free.</p><p>“Hey, Carrie.” Her voice went flat but not for lack of trying.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” She sat next to her, much to Bev’s dismay, she felt her frustration rise. She didn’t hate Carrie, quite the opposite, she found her to be an incredibly calming and understanding person. But Bev was the one end of a magnet and everyone else was the opposite pole. Being in someone— anyone’s presence right now was enough to kick her ass.</p><p><em> Get away from me, Please. </em> </p><p>“I’m just, you know, not <em> right, </em>right now.”</p><p>“How do you mean that?” </p><p>“I’ve been scattered lately. Like, erratic.”</p><p>“Have you tried talking to someone? It doesn’t even have to be a professional, sometimes just having a friend helps.”</p><p>“No. I’m working on that, though.”</p><p>“Neat-o!” she smiled, “And if it means anything, remember that humans are social creatures. We’re not meant to isolate ourselves physically or emotionally.” Her voice was airy and pillow-soft but grounded in a deeper, more self-assured way. Beverly couldn’t look directly at her, </p><p><em> I get it, </em> she wanted to say, <em> I get it, you care and you want to help— I don’t fucking want it. I don’t ever want anyone’s fucking help </em>.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>                   _________________</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>[Early Dec]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Beverly’s insomnia came back full force during semester finals. She was at the studio almost all day every day only leaving to go to class then coming right back and working. Those few hours where she wasn’t tailoring were spent restlessly tossing around her bed. She barely slept.</p><p>One night, after a week of not talking to anyone, Corinthians and Eddie joined forces despite barely knowing each other, for Bev’s greater good. They walked to the fabrication studio with the intention of getting their friend out of there whether that means she’d come willingly or they’d have to drag her out.  </p><p>They found her slouched back in her chair, staring at a dress-form fitted with a mesh emerald and black dress. She glared at it with tired disdain, and as if she were about to cry. She groaned and let her head fall back on the chair, she rubbed her eyes. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie was the first to pipe up. </p><p>Bev turned her head, not moving much else besides that, “Hey,” her voice dreary.</p><p>Corin strode over to her, stopping at the opposite side of the table, “Beverly, you should take a break.” This was the first meaningful interaction they had in weeks.</p><p>“I already took a break earlier today.” She straightened up in the chair before deciding to stand up. “Now, I work,”</p><p>“Dude,” Eddie was at Corin’s side, now, “You know that’s not enough, you need a full fucking day to––”</p><p>“No I don’t,” Bev moved around the dress-form to idly fold some fabric, “I don’t have class ‘til four tomorrow. If I work a few more hours tonight and tomorrow, my biggest projects would be done and then I can get started on the others. This shit takes for-fucking-<em> ever </em>.” She tried to laugh it off.</p><p>Both her friends were beginning to argue with her, voices overlapping slightly before one stopped. Corin went on, softening her voice, “Look, Bevvy—”</p><p>That ‘<em> Bevvy </em>’ triggered her brain. Terror and hate coursed blindly through Bev. She knew Cory couldn’t have possibly known that that was her father’s nickname for her. She couldn’t have known that, he called her that whenever he’d try to garner sympathy. She couldn’t have known…</p><p>“Don’t call me that! Don’t you <em> dare </em> fucking call me that, again!” Beverly barked.</p><p>Corinthians stood in shock, she hadn’t screamed at her like that before, or at all. </p><p>Eddie quickly told Corin why she was freaking out.</p><p>Bev put her head in her hands and lowered herself to the ground, back against a table leg. She felt like she was being treated like a rabid animal. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Bev. I didn’t know...” Corin faltered. They, ever so slowly, advanced closer to her. </p><p>Bev had a habit of speaking without thinking so, saying something offhand or too intense wasn’t <em> new </em>to her by any means but her exhaustion mixed with her venomous, “Fuck you.” towards someone who was only trying to help make every misstep come crashing down on her.</p><p>Bev couldn’t really put together what they were saying at this point. Mentally, she was thrown underwater, surrounded almost completely by the orange tint of bad thoughts and the bright red anger that cut easily through the protective layers of blue. </p><p>She felt numb...drained...</p><p>
  <em> I think I’m crying. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fuck off, I hate crying. </em>
</p><p>She saw their shadows linger closely over her, “Both of you, leave me alone.” She trembled from under her arms, “Don’t touch me, leave me alone.” </p><p>“You have to, at least, go back to your room.”  Eddie pleaded.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Beverly—“</p><p>“No, I don’t want to.” In actuality, Bev did <em> not </em> want to be alone right now but she thought she was too volatile. She wanted Eddie and Corin to hug her and tell her everything will be okay. She wanted to curl up into a warm bed and sleep for days.</p><p>“Bev, please you’re going to work yourself sick.” Eddie dropped next to Bev, careful not to touch her. Corin kept her distance, not knowing what to do.</p><p>“Too late,” Bev tittered. </p><p> </p><p>That night, Bev slept in Eddie’s room, wrapped in blankets on the bed, reveling in the silence. He knew not to bother her for the time being so he lay next to her, reading a book. </p><p>“Ed?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Am I…” she didn’t know what she wanted, “What am I?”</p><p>He put down his book, “What?” </p><p>She sat up, still cocooned in blankets, “Am I worth the effort? I don’t even know what the hell’s wrong with me, I feel like I’m going through life without direction. I exist without a purpose.” </p><p>“So? You’re mentally ill, join the club.” </p><p>“What if I can’t be helped? What if I’m just a permanent fuck up, doomed to have a shitty past, present, and future?” </p><p>“You’re not ‘doomed’ to anything. Fate doesn’t exist and even if it did, I doubt it would condemn you to be miserable.”</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“I don’t.”</p><p>“How do I help it?”</p><p>“Be real with yourself...and maybe seek professional help.” </p><p>Aunt Kit had given her Sarah’s number but she hadn't been composed enough to call, “You don’t have a therapist and you’re more put together than I am.”</p><p>“No, I’m not, I’m a fucking mess. We just process things differently. I tend to internalize and you tend to externalize. Or, something like that.”</p><p>“Am I a bad person?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I should apologize to Corinthians.” </p><p>“Yes, you should.” </p><p>Bev sighed, and inched her head back down onto the pillow, “Kasper, can I sleep here tonight?”</p><p>“Of course, Martian.”</p><p> </p><p>Bev slept for 14 hours. She woke up half-delirious and alone. Eddie's room got a lot of light in his room, strangely. Maybe it’s because he didn’t keep his blinds perpetually closed. </p><p>
  <em> Fuck, what if one of his roommates is here? </em>
</p><p>Bev would do anything not to run into Shithead 1 and Shithead 2. Those fuckers relentlessly made fun of Eddie for being gay and weren’t shy with calling Bev a wealth of insults using some form of bitch, slut, and/or dyke. Bev <em> was </em> a bitch, a dyke, and working towards being a slut, however, <em> they </em> meant it derogatorily and she didn’t have the patience for any of their shit.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck, I missed class. </em>
</p><p>She hadn’t even checked the time, there wasn’t a point.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck, I have to apologize to Corinthians. </em>
</p><p>That was on the top of her mental to-do list.</p><p><em> I need a shower and coffee </em>. </p><p>And food.</p><p>She huffed, and squirmed out of her blanket cocoon, planting herself firmly on the cold hard floor. She changed out of the clothes Eddie loaned her and listened closely outside the door for any sign of the Dude-Bros.</p><p>She heard nothing but still kept quiet. Slowly opening the door, moving on the balls of her feet, and expertly avoiding any creaks in the floor. </p><p> </p><p>She got out the door easily, though she felt more unwieldy than ever. An acute headache formed on the right side of her head as she floated back to her dorm. She hadn’t remembered the last time she took a shower. </p><p>
  <em> Was it Monday? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Today’s Thursday… and I didn’t take one yesterday… </em>
</p><p>All of her “day markers” evaporated from her head, every day for the past week and a half blended together in a muddle of fabric, passing out in class, and an ever-present, low hum of anger.</p><p>
  <em> Grimy. I feel grimy. </em>
</p><p>She let the door slam behind her. </p><p>She took a shower while the kettle was heating up.</p><p> </p><p>The water- for the shower anyway- was scalding. She overpoured her tangerine soap and scrubbed her skin raw. For a while, before she got out of the shower, she stood agonizingly still. Letting the beads of water hit her head, fall down her face, and off the tip of her nose in a succinct triangle formation. She stared through the plain tile,</p><p>
  <em> Why do I feel like this?  </em>
</p><p>Aside from the overworking, no sleep aspect of this week, she felt like she was in stasis. In a tight impenetrable brown box that was her exact height, width, and volume, rendering her unable to shift around even the slightest bit. She was running out of air. </p><p>She shut off the water, not giving herself time to think as she shoved her towel over herself and scuttled off to her room.</p><p> </p><p>2 hours later, she finally got up the nerve to enact her apology tour. </p><p>Corin wasn’t home. Either that or her roommate lied. </p><p>“Do you know what she’ll be back?” Bev was basically pleading.</p><p>The roommate shrugged, “I dunno, man, try tomorrow.”</p><p>Bev groaned and the roommate closed the door.</p><p>
  <em> I gonna fucking die, I swear to God. </em>
</p><p>She leaned near-catatonic on the wall opposite, she didn’t want to move but her body jolted itself off the wall, spiking her irritability.</p><p>
  <em> What if she doesn’t want to see me anymore? What if she’s afraid of me?  </em>
</p><p>Her heavy eyes stung brutally, she tried to ease her breathing but the tears tore down her face no matter what.</p><p> </p><p> She locked herself in her room, wanting to push through the pain. Tomorrow she had to hand in one of her finals. </p><p><em> Focus on that </em>.</p><p>She couldn’t, her mind constantly cycled back to the feeling of dread. Abject fear.</p><p><em> Maybe I can start over </em> . It was a loose thought, barely meaning anything but compelled her greatly. <em> Start over, do better. </em></p><p>Simple...on paper. The idea left as soon as it came. She kept on like that for a while. </p><p>
  <em> I’m so stupid, I’m so stupid, I’m so stupid. Should I try her dorm again? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No, that’d be obsessive. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Should I write a letter? No that’d be a cop-out...or obsessive...fuck, I don’t know.  </em>
</p><p>She’s got to check her mail at some point. </p><p>Beverly sighed and got a notebook from her bag.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Dear</em> <em>Hey, Corin. </em><em>I’m sorry </em><em>you don’t have to forgive me but I didn’t mean what I said. At the graveyard or at the studio, I was freaked out and I took it out on you. I’m bad at talking to people, I know that’s hard to deal with and I’m not going to ask you to deal with it.</em></p><p><em> If anything I said or did </em> <em> I know I hurt you. I wish I didn’t. You don’t deserve to be hurt.  </em></p><p>
  <em> I just want you to know, what happened wasn’t because of you. I’ve got a lot of shit to work out, you know. </em>
</p><p><em> Love  </em> <em> Bev” </em></p><p> </p><p>She folded it up into a square and wrote ‘To Corin’ on it. She felt like a high schooler about to shove a note in a locker. Bev decided against taking it to the mail slots and instead walked it up to Corin’s dorm to give it to her roommate to give to her.</p><p>She hesitated at the door. The idea of interacting with the roommate again was agonizing. She knocked.</p><p>Corin, herself, answered. Bev resisted the urge to run away, screaming. </p><p>“Hey,” Corin’s expression was unreadable.</p><p>“H-hey,” She could barely get out the words, “I’m–– this is for you.” She stuck the letter out.</p><p>Corinthians took it from her, carefully unfolded it, and read. Every second passed agonizingly slow. Bev couldn’t bear to watch her read it, her eyes darted around trying to find something to focus on…</p><p>“Beverly,” Corinthians’s voice was gentle, Bev looked up at her, into her eyes. She looked conflicted, “I get it. But, I think I need to not be around you for a while.”</p><p>Bev’s face fell. “Oh.”</p><p>“I care about you and if you really need me, don’t hesitate to talk to me but––” she sighed, “ I need time.”</p><p>Beverly nodded slowly. </p><p>“I’ll see you around, dude.”</p><p>“See ya’.” Her voice broke. She left not knowing what to feel or how to feel it. This was the most realistic best-case-scenario and it still sucked.  She didn’t try to fight it. She wanted to find common ground with her emotions.</p><p>The sun’s gone down and Beverly ended the day without victory in its most accessible form but somewhere, deep down, she knew that didn’t mean she hadn’t gained anything.</p><p><br/>
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